Sacked
by sleepy-geeky
Summary: In which Greg is mean to Sara in the field. No ships.


Sacked

By: Coat

Summery: In which Greg is mean to Sara in the field. No ships.

Author's Note: And so begins my not-so-illustrious career in CSI fan fiction writing. I was eating a pudding cup at a quarter past three in the morning and the story wouldn't leave me alone.

Disclaimer: Gil Grissom, Jim Brass, Greg Sanders, Sara Sidle, Nick Stokes, Warrick Brown, etc, are the property of Viacom/CBS/MMV and protected under copyright. This is a fan work and no profit is being made.

The Beta adventures of Sacked: I cannot find a good beta for this story. One went so far to say that they wouldn't read it because the sentences were "too short". O.o So, many thanks to the people of the Gaia fan fiction sub forum for their help.

"What is that?"

"What is what?"

"What's in that bag?" Sara demanded. Greg glanced at Sara and then at the bag slowly. He looked heavenward for a moment.

"What bag?" He asked. Sara groaned and grabbed the bag; but Greg held it tightly. "Mine. Mine mine mine…"

"What is in the damn bag?"

"Food. And no, you can't have any."

"Food? Why did you bring food?"

"Sara, we've been out here five hours."

"…but we didn't know we would be coming in. Ack, bird –" Sara got up quickly and ran to chase a bird away from the rather bloody mess on the hillside. She stomped back making exasperated noises. Stupid D.B. Stupid Greg. Stupid Sara. Stupid need for food.

"Well, Grissom's pretty backlogged and when he said guard his evidence I guessed it would be a while… so I brought a lunch. I still don't understand why we can't process this scene…" Greg gave her a begging look.

"Because Grissom wants to do it himself. Damn… what do you have in there?" Sara leaned over him, giving Greg a rather pleasant view.

"Meat. Lots of meat. Meaty meat that is in all aspects fit to be consumed by only the most ravenous of carnivores."

"In other words, you're not sharing?" Greg twitched his eye, held the bag close to his body, and hissed:

"Mine. You didn't bring a lunch; it's your own fault." Sara made a face. She looked out for the birds.

"Why can't day shift do this?" Sara whined. Greg smirked.

"You're just mad because I, the oh-so-prepared one, have food. And you haven't eaten since before you came in. Ha."

"What are you doing, stalking me?"

"Working with you; with you at all times because it seems I can't be left alone for one second. And you haven't eaten, have you? Did you eat at all yesterday?"

"Breakfast after I got off yesterday. Please, Greg! What do you have in that bag?"

"Yeesh, talk about poor health. See, my body is my temple where I worship the gods of Rock, so I have to keep in tip-top shape. Everything that goes into this body is carefully considered…"

"…Even the Chinese of unknown age and origin in the fridge?"

"I considered it before I ate it. The draw of the general chicken was too strong for me. And it tasted fine. Mostly. The egg drop soup was a little suspicious…"

"So what did you put in that sack of yours, anyway?"

"Meat. I told you, meat-meat-meat!"

"Greg, I am not going to steal it. What's in there?"

"Um, lemme think." Greg scooted around so his back was to Sara and opened the sack.

"PB&J, a juice-thingy, some fruit-snack-dealies and some chips."

"Greg, I brought that kind of lunch … in grade school!"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't hate the classics!"

"Fine. What will I have to do to get some of the food in that bag?"

"Hmm. You, me, and a Denali alone in the desert… the possibilities are endless, really. But I don't want Grissom to kill me so-o-o… nope, there's nothing you can do. This food is totally mine."

"You're mean."

"Yes, I take great pleasure in it. Whenever some kid walks up to me and says, 'you're mean, man!' I just smile and say, 'thank you,' because it means I'm good at it—"

"Do you ever shut up?"

"Nope. My dad said I should have come with a mute button, and I said he should have read the fine print before buying me on sale at Kmart, but –"

"Okay, okay. Let's play the quiet game, Greg…"

"Fine." Greg turned on his iPod, rolled over on the large picnic blanket, and closed his eyes. He reconsidered for a moment, grabbed his brown bag, and hugged it to his chest.

"Hey! You can't make me chase birds alone!"

"No birds here now." He rolled back over and curled up with his precious food.

Sara grumbled. She chased birds and clicked around on her labtop for a while before picking up on a very good sound: Greg's snoring. Sara smirked ruthlessly.

She leaned over him first, performing all manner of tests to make sure he was really asleep. He was, but the most conclusive evidence of this was that he wasn't talking.

She leaned over, carefully pulling the sack out of his grip … carefully …

The sound of the truck's horn startled her and she fell over Greg, who woke up and said something obscene.

"Hey, Sara, Grissom said ya'll can come in now, some newbies are on their way to replace you … but if you're otherwise indisposed…" Nick smirked, leaning out his window to get a better view.

"No, no, we can finish this later, can't we, pudding cup?" Greg made kissing noises. It took all of Sara's self-restraint and professionalism not to knock out his teeth. She settled with the thought that Greg would soon get what was coming to him.


End file.
